The Growth of the Bonapartist Grandson
by Miss Pontmercy
Summary: A series of diary entries from Marius, starting from childhood. Growing up with his grandfather, school, meeting les amis, the revolution, and more. How did he grow to be the young man we meet in the book?
1. The Beginning

**October 12, 1822**

Today I turned 12. My aunt gave me this book to help me practice writing. She said I should write down all my thoughts in it, but that sounds boring to me. It's not a very good birthday present.

**August 24, 1823**

Today I was bored. It was a beautiful day outside, but my grandfather told me I could only walk around the block, nowhere else. I don't want to have to have a chaperon every time I leave the house anymore. Goodness, I'm almost a man!

I went into the library to find something to read. I opened one of grandfather's books.

I'm never going into the library again.

**April 6, 1824**

I suppose I really haven't written much in this, have I? Yesterday my grandfather told me that, come fall, I won't be schooled at home anymore. I'll be going to university in Paris, but living at home. That sounds like an improvement over the current system- I never get to do anything of interest, and have scarcely seen anyone my own age in months.

When I was a child my grandfather used to take me to Madame T's salon. It was dreadful then, because no one would talk to me. Or I'd be scared, because some old lady would come over and fawn over me- why do old women think they are every child's mother?- but now that I'm thirteen it sounds appealing. At least I'd have someone to talk to.

**September 8, 1824**

School was dreadful! I thought I'd make all kinds of new friends, but the minute I walked through to door it was like my tongue was tied up. I was too scared to say a word. I don't want to seem weak and shy. One of the boys teased me and said I was a _girl!_ Because I was too 'bashful' to talk to anyone! Most of the boys knew each other from earlier school- apparently not everyone is tutored. Some of the boys were, but most of the loud ones had already been in school together. Just because I didn't previously have friends does not make me a _girl._

Then I talked to another young man whose name was Gilles. He was sitting in his desk when I got to arithmetic, even earlier than I. He seemed kind, so I sat by him. He asked my name, so I told him. "My name is Marius." He was nice and we ate lunch together later.

But then I told me that he doesn't believe in God. Not at _all._ His mother and father are Catholic, so he made his Confirmation, but just to make them happy. He says he's an _atheist._

I don't know if I can sit with him tomorrow. I don't think I can bear it.

**November 20, 1824**

Today a boy named Franck asked me who my parents were. I told him my mother was dead and that I lived with my grandfather. He asked me who my father was. I didn't know what to say, because my Grandfather says "we do not speak of your father" whenever I asked. "We do not speak of him!" he says, and scrunches his face up.

So I told him I didn't know him, but his name was Pontmercy. The boy shrugged. Somehow I feel I said the wrong thing.


	2. An Awkward Adolescence

**March 12, 1825**

This house is dreadful! Grandfather never lets me have friends over, and does not let me go to my friend's houses either. He says their parents are all corrupt, or 'brigands,' (well just my friend Thomas whose father was in Napolean's army at the turn of the century), or who are lower or higher class than us. Other boys get to go out with their friends and eat or go study or even go to dance halls. I sit at home.

**May 2, 1825**

Today my friend Thomas told me goodbye- he is missing school today (Friday) and coming back Monday. I asked why. He said because he and his father were going hunting.

"Why?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Because he wants me to learn how. And he wants to spend some time with me, or so he said."

He wished him a good time, but really. Is going away necessary? Couldn't a father spend time with his son without a trip? If they already live together, and get along, do they need anything more? I know I don't need any more time with my grandfather.

**July 25, 1825**

Today, I went out alone. That's right! I am fourteen years old, and I went out by myself. I met three friends at a restaurant, and then we went to a park and played ball and threw stones in the river. One of the boys- it was Thomas again- started laughing over the passerby on the streets. We all started making up funny things that they could be saying, until we were laughing too hard to breathe. I don't think I've ever had more fun.

But then my Grandfather was angry with me when I returned home, because my shirt had gotten dirty. Honestly, sometimes I really hate that man.

**October 12, 1825**

My birthday again. I left the house early and went to the gymnasium and swam. I'm fifteen now.

I don't feel any older at all. I'm still bored with school, though I get good marks, and have little interest in politics or reading. I can't listen to a thing grandfather says, so I know I am not a royalist, but nothing else seems appealing. Catholicism is the only institution I can identify with- not school, not home, not family. But at least I have God.

Except I hope I do not end up like Aunt Gillenormond, who just sits at home praying her rosary. Honestly, she is a very nice woman, but she seems so sad.

**December 17, 1825**

I want to die! The other day after church, I was helping some of the other young people fill baskets for the poor (boring charity work that our parents- or in my case, Grandfather- make us do, but is nonetheless fulfilling), when I spilled mine all over. The blankets, socks, bread, and all sorts fell all over the floor. A girl came over to help me, and that just made it worse.

I heard everyone laughing, and she knelt down to help put the things back in the baskets. I feel horrible about it now, because I was too embarrassed to assist her or even say 'thank you.' She put everything back in the basket herself while I stood there like a red, mortified mess. Now I wish I'd thanked her, because she was one of the only boys or girls who didn't laugh at me. But at the same time I was angry. If she hadn't helped, the boys might not have laughed so hard.

**March 30, 1825**

My grandfather is so cruel sometimes! Today he pulled me aside and told me it was high time I had a beau. I told him that was ridiculous! I am in no way looking for a wife yet, as I am only fifteen. But he just laughed hysterically and told me that wasn't why one looks for a beau.

See, I know that. I am by no means stupid- I hear the boys at my school talking all the time about girls. But I've only ever talked to a few of the young girls from church, who seem silly and giggly and I know they all talk about us boys behind our backs, and it's terrible. The girl who helped me with my basket seemed nice, but I don't think I could bear having a conversation with her. What would we talk about? Yes, she's rather pretty. But I'd rather read my books, when I know she'd be more concerned about her dress, and we'd sit in silence. Afterwards she'd tell all her friends about it, and the following Sunday all the girls would giggle even _more._

I did not tell him this though. He hasn't talked to any girls in a long time, so maybe he doesn't understand anymore.

**May 1, 1825**

I hate that man! I hate him! Tonight, we were supposed to have a party. But after I had to get dressed up, I came downstairs... and the only guests were my age! Several chaperons were there, of course, but everyone else was my classmates. Boys.

And _girls!_ There were about twenty of them, all lined up like cream puffs in their dresses! They all started at us boys dreamily like they wanted us to do something- dance with them, I suppose, but I did _not_ want to.

I managed to avoid them for about an hour, talking to friends, when my grandfather practically broke my rib, he elbowed me so hard, and made me ask a girl to dance. He literally walked me right up to her, and stood there until I asked her. I had no idea what to say, and I couldn't even look her in the face. It was mortifying.

She said she would dance with me. I couldn't decide if I was relieved she hadn't turned me down, or upset that I now had to go through with a dance for the next few minutes. I knew I had to hold her hand, and put another hand on her waist, but I didn't want to because my palms were sweating.

When we danced, she looked nervous too, and couldn't seem to find anything to say. We were both rather awkward dancers, I know now. At the time I could only think of my own awkwardness, though. But I couldn't look at her, so I looked at the floor and knew I was red. I could feel her eyes on me, and I became so overly conscious of my skin. I don't have very good skin, I know. I get these red things on it, on my forehead and chin. It's terrible and they hurt and I know the girls laugh.

I couldn't think of anything but how she would make fun of me later, and the next few minutes were absolute torture. But finally I did break away. The rest of the dance was a little better, but not much. I know the girls are talking about me, and how stupid I acted.

**May 2, 1825**

When I went down for breakfast this morning, I heard grandfather telling the cook and our maid, Nicolette, about what a bad dancer I was.

His life's work is to make me miserable. He is slowly making the boys at school think I am 'bashful' and 'girly,' and then he turns the girls against me by inviting them over. Now he is turning the household against me. Where am I to go?

* * *

**Poor Marius' adolescence... it was obvious it was awkward. The poor kid. He will bloom soon though- les amis are coming! whoo!**


	3. Tiresome

**June 4, 1826**

I did more charity work with my church today. The oldest age group of boys and girls was there, and we were feeding the poor at a soup kitchen. Like I said before, it's something all of our parents make us do, but is nonetheless fulfilling. None of my friends from school go to my church- we all belong to different parishes. But the girl who once helped me with my basket was there. I know that was almost six months ago now, but I still remember. Sometimes, because I'm so shy, I start to think that everyone around me must be not very nice. But then I remember that and know that not everyone is cruel.

**June 21, 1826**

I don't think I ever mentioned it, but her name is Adalie. The girl who was nice to me, I mean.

**August 7, 1826**

I started to possibly think about talking to Mademoiselle Adalie. I know I am much too timid, but I've thought about her a lot lately. I see her ever week after church, and she is very pretty. Most of the girls are giggly and make me think they are talking about me, and I get nervous. But she seems quieter, and I never worry about her laughing at me.

**August 20, 1826**

Grandfather dragged me to another party tonight. I was a little better- this time I did not look as obvious about not dancing. I spent my time talking, and therefore looked polite at least. But he still made me dance with a girl- her name was Lucille or Lucie or something like that. She chattered the _entire time._ Honestly. The _whole time!_ It lasted about five minutes, but from my experience it could have been five hours. Honestly!

And on top of that, I still had no idea what to say.

Earlier today I was out in Paris when a man came up to me and asked for alms. I gave some of course, but it was a rather unpleasant exchange. He was frightening, with soot and dirt all caked on and yellow teeth. It was disconcerting. I am certain he was a thief- the poor are wretched, I think. I am certain there is nothing worse than a thief.

**September 7, 1826**

At school today my friend Thomas and I almost had an argument about politics. I have almost no opinions, but I know I am not a royalist. He is a Republican, and I said that, as Frenchmen, we should be loyal to the king and our monarchy. I know I should not say this, as I am technically not a royalist, but all in all I am still a Frenchman. My views are all tangled up and terrible. It's high time that I find out what I believe in. I am still an adolescent, I suppose, but once one becomes a man they must have political views.

**October 12, 1826**

I am sixteen! At last, I am in the second have of my 'teen' years. Nearing twenty, nearing adulthood. I now have pushed myself very far away from my grandfather. I go to church at a different place, and go by myself every Sunday.

Yes, that means I no longer see Mademoiselle Adalie, but I found I don't mind very much. When we did charity work together it was nice, but the thought of speaking to her was just too much. It wasn't worth the erratic, nervous heart and the illness that came with it. I think the thought of her was more appealing than Adalie as a person, because I scarcely miss her at all.

In fact, I scarcely feeling anything at all. I spend more time away from Grandfather than ever, and spend my time at my school library are the library in Paris. Anything to be away from home, I suppose. I bury my nose in books, as escapism. However, it does lend itself to loneliness, as my friends usually do not invite me. They enjoy going on shooting trips. I've gone on those with them occasionally, but they just act stupid, talking about girls the whole time or trying to show off in front of each other. It grows tiring, as everyone grows loud and excited to be away from home. Sometimes I wish my friends would be content to just spend some time together, just two or three of us. I rather resent those large groups.

**March 7, 1827**

I haven't written much in this lately, have I? I suppose not much has happened. I've continued to grow bored with life.

**July 17, 1827**

My grandfather is ever more tiresome, my aunt ever more boring. My friends, ever more immature. I want to _do_ something! I am tired of simply school, church, and occasionally swimming in a gymnasium or something equally as tiresome. I haven't even read anything that made me think in the past three months.

**October 12, 1827**

Seventeen. That's all.

**November 4, 1827**

Apparently my father is ill, and I have to go to Vernon to see him before he dies. What I do not understand is why a man who never cared for me suddenly wants to see me? Why, on his death bad, does he suddenly care for his son? Guilt, perhaps? And why does my grandfather, who always hated my father, honor_ this _request?

While we are on the subject, I must let it be known how tiresome it is to be forever pushed away. I always feel I am someone to be dealt with- my aunt, dealing with my well-being and education, my grandfather, with my social upbringing, my father... well, he didn't even seem to care to deal with me. But I don't feel that anyone actually _likes _me. No one ever sits to talk to me, other than if they want my opinion on something that corresponds to them and them alone.

I suppose eventually I will have children. The thought is rather puzzling now- I have no idea how one gets in that position. I suppose I am supposed to look for a wife eventually, which is an almost amusing thought, it is so far off. But if and when I have children, I shan't shun them and push them away like everyone did with me.

Alas, the carriage is here. I am packed for a few days, and the carriage ride will take almost an entire day. We shall see how this goes.

* * *

**We'll leave it there for now, on the precipice, before we reach 'new Marius.'**


	4. Bonaparte

**November 6, 1827**

My father died today. The story is rather depressing to tell you the truth- apparently he was rather eager to see me, but I arrived too late. Just minutes too late in fact. It's rather chilling, to think. It brought some tears to my eyes, the fact that I will never speak to my father.

But honestly, if the man was so desperate to speak to me, why didn't he call on me sooner? He spent twelve years ignoring me, so why did he start to care now?

**November 9, 1827**

I'm in the carriage home this morning. The funeral was yesterday, so of course I stayed. I'll wear black for him, but I can't tell if he deserves it.

**November 21, 1827**

What a fool I am! God Almighty, I have been a fool! An ungrateful, presumptuous bastard!

I was in church on Sunday when a man, named Monsieur Mabeuf, came up to me and told me that, from where he sat in church, he would often see a man come to look in on his son. The man was not allowed to speak to his son, for the son would be disowned by his rich aunt and grandfather, but the father adored him and came to see him grow up.

That son was _me!_For God's sake, I never knew... no one told me! My grandfather made the man out to be a heartless wretch who committed murders, not a decorated officer in Napolean's army, who adored his son.

They have been lying to me for years. I wonder what else is false. And worse... I missed seeing him, where he could have told me all this himself, where I could have met him, where I could have apologized. And he did love me so- it takes a great man to give up something they adore. He was a great man, and he never got to see me again, and I never got to have a chance to redeem myself for my despicable treatment of him.

**November 28, 1827**

More news comes out. I received my father's will- he had very few worldly possessions, but he was a Baron! I bear his title, and gladly so (though I do not deserve it, as he seems to believe). He also named a man- Thenardier- who saved his life at Waterloo.

His life was saved once, but he was not spared long enough for his son to meet him. Alas, how cruel the world is!

I know now how stupid my grandfather is- a _very_ stupid man. He bossed me around throughout my whole childhood, after stealing me from my father. Honestly- and his political beliefs are ridiculous. He lost his brain somewhere at the turn of the century.

**January 2, 1828**

A new year!

I went to the library today and researched Bonaparte. I believe he is the most brilliant man alive- his military strategies are ingenious. He was a terrific leader, managing everything himself. That's how one must lead- when the power gets too spread out, too many loyalties get in the way of good work. His only issue was perhaps being too smart- people did not understand.

I have spent lots of time at Thomas', because his father fought with Napolean, just as mine did. Just getting any information is helpful!

My grandfather keeps asking me where I am spending my time, but I do not tell him. He should learn how it feels to have secrets kept from him.

**February 7, 1828**

I continue my quest- I have read everything on Bonaparte in the library I go to, and have now spread to another library. I have kept up with Monsieur Mabeuf, who is a very kind gentleman who is very content to help me out.

Thomas, however, is growing difficult. He asked me yesterday why I am acting this way. I asked "What is the matter?" and he replied that I have gotten much too radical. What happened to nationalism?

Why- if that is not the most ridiculous question I have ever heard, I do not know what is! I want the best leader for France, that's all. He told me to support King Charles- I almost spat at him. "Your father is a Bonapartist!" I cried- he replied and said that he did not have to believe what his father believed. Then he wounded me further by saying his father was scarcely as Bonapartist, he only fought with him. I left his house angry, and have not called on him sense. It's been four days.

I have moved on to law school, by the way. It's much stiffer than university. I cannot talk to anyone, we do not have a lunch break for us all to eat together. Rather we have separate classes. I spend my free time studying.

**May 4, 1828**

I have not written for a long time, but oh is there a good reason for that!

If I could meet my father now, I would thank him for my new life. I feel reborn. On March 16, after I returned from visiting his grave in Vernon, I encountered my Aunt and Grandfather, who were furious. They found my father's will which I kept in a locket round my neck. We had a huge row, which ended with me moving out. I think, when I threatened that, they did not take me seriously.

But it has been over a month and I have not seen them!

But, oh what has happened! No sooner had I started to panic about what my whereabouts would be when I met a man named Bousset. He was in one of my law classes- I had no idea- and we got to talking, and he introduced me to one of his friends, a man named Courfeyrac. They are several years older than I, but we get on as though we were brothers raised together. I bunked with Courfeyrac for several days until I was put up in a hotel. He is hilarious, honestly. These young men seem to know everything- Courfeyrac took me to the Cafe Musain, where all their friends (the ABC Society, they call themselves) sit and discuss politics. Honestly, I finally feel at home. Our political views differ slightly, but it has no presented a problem thus far. Usually I am just content to listen, glad at last to be with people who are intellectually and political motivated.

Courfeyrac and I went to the theatre the other night, which was the first time I'd been to anything of that sort. I've only gone to operas with my grandfather, which in my opinion are dreadful. It's so unnatural for people to sing all the time. But anyway, it was a comedy and I laughed until my stomach hurt.

Of course, I am still devoted to my father. I met with Monsieur Mabeuf the other afternoon for a stroll, and he introduced me to his brother, Father Mabeuf, who resides in Vernon. I am to visit there this weekend, but I can't go until classes let out. But he will give me the names of several of my father's war friends, many of whom as surviving. I can hear their accounts on him, too! Though it is not as good as meeting the man, accounts from his peers are the next best thing. It is like an illness, as I hunger for more information about the man. I continue to resent my grandfather for taking this away from me.

I am going to the Cafe Musain now for dinner- well, not really for dinner, but for discussion. The leader, Enjolras, is an old fellow. He is absolutely beautiful- funny for a man to say, but it's undeniable- and has the most commanding way of speaking. But he is somewhat off-putting when you try to speak to him one-on-one. I can't say for sure if it seems he's ever had a friend. But Courfeyrac and I are going together- however, it seems I cannot escape this aspect of my grandfather. We were walking the other day when a woman recognized Courfeyrac, and he greeted her with upmost warmth. When she left, he informed me that she was not his beau or anything of the sort. Just a "friend. " "And what a good friend to have!" he declared, making me go read. He is several years older than me, as I mentioned.


	5. Growing Up

**June 12, 1828**

I am very poor, but no longer completely content.

I had a row with les amis over my Bonapartism. It seems that none of them find that as respectable political view. I was essentially told I was not welcome as long as those views were in my mind. No, not one of them was rude, but we argued.

I had been getting peeved with them for some time now, to be honest. I am a republican, but I find it unrealistic that all republicans must say that all of France's Kings (or in this case, Emperors) were bad rulers, just because we are republicans! I can want a republic and admit that there have been fantastic rulers, such as Napolean. I was tired of their hopeful and elitist manner- we know all, republicanism is the only right viewpoint, et cetra.

And I was growing so tired of Enjolras! He acts like he knows everything, and talks to me like I am a child. I am only a few years young than he is! I am seventeen, I am no child.

**July 3, 1828**

I now live in this place called the Gorebau tenement, and have a room. I work as a translator now, and sometimes a lawyer. Mostly I translate because it's so much less boring than lawyering. Well, I can get it done in a matter of hours and make some money.

Monsieur Mabeuf and I go for walks sometimes, and I keep up with Courfeyrac. He is the only one of the les amis who I see regularly. Sometimes we go to dinner or to the theatre and we meet up with the others, because Courfeyrac is still friends with them, but I do not make an effort to see them.

**July 17, 1828**

I went to the Louvre today because I was feeling bored, and did not want to socialize. I remember when it was called the Musee de Napolean. Or rather, I recall that it was once called that- I hardly remember that time. But I was bored with my friends, as always, and did not want to go for another walk, so I looked at the paintings.

I can't say I'm one for art. I love literature, and can sometimes enjoy the theatre, but paintings and sculptures... eh. What is there to see other than a picture? Yes, it looks like a person, but that's all. I also hate opera and ballet, which my grandfather used to take me to. I can't imagine liking that sort of thing.

**August 2, 1828**

I've spent the past two days with Courfeyrac. He up and disappeared for several days, but I learned he was at a hotel with his latest lady love, Pauline. He invited me for dinner when he returned, and I did not know she would be there. If I had known I would not have gone- I hate that feeling when you expect to be with your friend by they abandon you all night. I was definitely unneeded that night. The two just doted on each other, and Pauline kept playing with Courfeyrac's hair.

Then I am positive she was using coquetry with me- I hated it hated it hated it! She starightened my cravat and sais something disparaging: "You are such an adorable little boy."

I am _not_ a little boy! And why if she paying me attention when she is with Courfeyrac?

But she did not join us today. Still, he was unbearable. He was telling me things I did not need to hear about both of them, until I just told him to be quiet or I would leave. He seemed taken aback that I did not want to hear.

**August 21, 1828 **

I saw les amis today- or just Jean Prouvaire, Bousset, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Enjolras does not join us when we socialize- no surprise there. He is more shy than I am. Except he is a very strange fellow, and one who makes me very uncomfortable. But anyway we walked around and met some friends Combeferre knew who were in Paris for a week, and then we took them around the city and actually had a very good time.

**September 8, 1828**

Today Courfeyrac introduced me to his new 'friend' Jeanne. I asked him what happened to Pauline, and he asked me, "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

I will never be able to understand him!

**September 16, 1828**

I cannot decide if I should sign my name Marius Pontmercy, Baron. Or Baron, Marius Pontmercy. Or Monsieur le Baron Pontmercy. Or just Monsieur Marius Pontmercy. I could be like Courfeyrac and just be 'Pontmercy' too, I suppose.

No, I don't think that's me.

**October 1, 1828**

A very pretty girl stopped me on the street today. She was lost, and had gotten separated from her beau, who had taken her to Paris for the day. She asked me for directions and if I could direct her to the Avenue des Champs-Élysées where they were to go shopping. I walked her there- we were only a block or so off the avenue anyway. She was probably nineteen or twenty, and a working young woman.

When she thanked me, she touched my arm lightly. Sometimes I am afraid of women, and sometimes I think they are the most wonderful of creatures.

Of course I had nothing to say to her. I always think of nice things to say to women when I am alone, but when I am with them I feel as if my tongue is three times its normal size and will not move. And most of the women I talk to mistresses or just companions of Courfeyrac anyway, who I have very little interest in. But this one was pretty and nice and did not flirt obnoxiously.

However, after I returned home, I realized that she was exactly the type of girl who my grandfather would want me to take on as a beau or a mistress, and that annoys me. A girl who is working, so I don't have to pay for anything for her, and a girl who does not expect me to marry her or to really do anything. And that's not entirely unappealing- I have no interest in marrying now! But the fact that I enjoyed talking to someone who my grandfather would have approved of makes me ashamed of myself.

**October 12, 1828**

I am eighteen today, and I scarcely celebrated at all. I took a walk in the Luxembourg to admire the fall colors. I never go to the Luxembourg, and I realize I should- it's a beautiful place!

I got coffee and a baguette from a bakery but then just went home and worked. No one came by, which I suppose is normal. Sometimes I find Courfeyrac or he finds me, but I can't say it's often. Usually, it's that we see each other very often over the space of a few days, and then go several weeks without seeing each other.

I spend most of my time alone, but I've found myself to be fine that way. I don't always approve of les amis, and not just because of their political opinions. They are older than me, so they act as though they know more about life and having a good time than I do, but surely they are wrong. When they are not exercising their political opinions, they are being self-indulgent. Several of them really are good men, but the atmosphere of mistresses, wine, and bravado is tiring. A few times a month it's fine to be with them, admire the girls on the street, drink some wine, and act as though we know everything, but more than that, to me, is too much.

And they make me feel young and naive for saying so.


	6. Shakespeare

**January 4, 1829**

It is finally a new year! Thank goodness that one was behind me- I learned more than any year prior. I moved, made friends, learned my political opinions, fought with my friends, became my own person, became self-sufficient... however, it was a difficult year and I am glad to move on. I am not completely secure in terms of funds. I am by no means rich, but I want for nothing and am very careful. As long as I maintain my current lifestyle, which is not extravagant but also does not demand hard work, I will be in a good place.

I made a New Year's resolution to begin exercising. I am going to try and swim three times I week. I have gone once so far, so I believe I am on the right track.

I wrote to my grandfather yesterday, and told him that I received my lawyer's license and that I am alive and well. I think that's about as much as he deserves to know. He forbid me from writing my father except on New Year's Day, so I shall only write to him on the first of the year.

**January 17, 1829**

I am proud of myself. I actually stuck to something. I have gone to exercise ten times since the new year, which translates to _more than I had originally planned! _I feel so accomplished.

**January 26, 1829**

I think I have some muscles now? I don't know for sure though, and I definitely have no one to compare myself to. But I think maybe I do?

**February 6, 1829**

I finally finished my latest project. To improve my English, which desperately needs improving, I read _Romeo and Juliet_ in English. I learned a lot of things. It took me nearly two months, coming from someone who generally reads books in a day.

It was in old English, which of course made my trek through the words even more difficult. I had to translate the words from English to French (a lot of which I could do in my head, but a good portion of it had to be done with a dictionary) and then I had to figure out what the English words meant in the 1500s as opposed to now. Very slow work. I did get better, though- the last few scenes took me significantly less time than the first few.

I knew the story of _Romeo and Juliet,_ of course. It sounded boring to me, considering it's just a love story, but I knew it the best of all Shakespeare's plays and thought it best to start with something familiar. What I've read in French has been rubbish. Either it's a literal translation, meaning it keeps the plot and therefore loses the poetry and iambic pentameter, or it keeps the rhythm and therefore has to alter the language so much that the play is completely different.

It's much better in English. But the plotline! Argh! Those characters are repulsive! It's extremely easy to criticize Romeo, for one. He starts out the play in love with one girl, Rosaline, and then loves Juliet about two hours later. And we are suppose to empathize with his "undying love"! How preposterous! He sounds more like Courfeyrac than a romantic hero.

But Juliet is just as ridiculous. She is obviously not respectable at all; she went behind her family's back and married some young man she really did not know at all. Love at first sight- pshaw! They spoke for ten minutes... but the problem is that they only spoke for ten minutes about loving each other. There was none of this:

"Hello, my name is Romeo. I am this way, I like this such and such, these are my hopes, this is what I want."

Meaning they ever got to know each other. They clapped eyes on each other, decided they were in love, and then when they spoke, they only spoke of love. I would never marry someone without knowing her- you would be stuck with her for your entire life. You can't only talk about love, it would get dreadful. What if she couldn't read? You would marry her to find out she could not read! How horrid!

Or worse... what if her family was a family of thieves or something like that?

And let's be honest. They only married for one reason. Romeo was sixteen, Juliet was fourteen. He thought she was beautiful, and proposed marriage. Am I the only one who does not find this romantic?

**February 16, 1829**

I think I will never marry. I was giggled at by girls in the street today. There were three of them, and when they saw me, they bumped each other and started to giggle. I mentioned that I am in no financial trouble- this is true. But my lack of work ethic does prevent me from having money, and my clothes are rather worse for wear. They were probably making fun of me.

Maybe Romeo committed suicide right after his marriage because he could not take being married to a woman, even for two days? If all they do is laugh at you, I see no reason for them whatsoever!

Oh, another ridiculous part of _Romeo and Juliet._ The suicides! Who would kill themselves over someone else? And all over a misunderstanding? If they'd just stayed put, and not let other people in their affairs. If they'd kept it between the two of them, they'd both have lived. Regardless, I don't see the need to kill yourself over any of this.

**March 2, 1829**

I have finally started going to the Luxembourg. Oh, it's worth mentioning that I don't go out exercising as much anymore. I do like swimming, though, and go about once a week. Or rather... I go once a week, if I am feeling up to it in Saturday, which translates to about once a month. So I go for walks in the Luxembourg. Less trying, much more beautiful, and I get fresh air. This is a habit I actually keep up with.

I found a very unfrequented path. There are only a few regulars. I go in the late morning, after breakfast and after I stop by the translator's shop to drop off my work from the previous day and pick up the documents for that day. There are some walkers, but mostly there is just this older man and his daughter. Occasionally there are others, notably soldiers on leave or young working women, and occasionally some retired officers, but usually I walk a few times in a path, and the older man sits. He looks about mid-fifties, and she looks about fourteen or fifteen. He looks kind and gentle, and she talks incessantly.

**March 24, 1829**

I ran into Courfeyrac at the Luxembourg three days ago. I told him I go there everyday, and he asked me if I met anyone there or if I knew anyone who went. I told him I don't greet anyone, but pointed out the father and daughter. The girl always wears black, and the father's hair is very white. Courfeyrac named him Monsieur Leblanc and Mademoiselle Lenoir. It's rather funny and to the point.

I saw him for dinner that day, because we hadn't talked in a few weeks. He met me again in the Luxembourg the next day, and asked after Monsieur Leblanc and Mademoiselle Lenoir. They showed up soon after, but Courfeyrac quickly grew bored when he got another better look at the girl. She's rather awkward and unattractive, but that's not why she's so unappealing. After all, she's too young to be pretty- she is not yet a woman, or even a lady.

She's unappealing because she's so obnoxious! She does not stop talking! And she looks around with a kind of authority, as if she owns all the flowers and trees. Well, this is my path too, and I will go there as much as I want!

Her father seems very kind though.


	7. Friends

**March 10, 1829**

I went to a Mardis Gras celebration the other day. Courfeyrac, his newest girl and two of her friends, Bousset and I wore our masks and went out onto the streets. I don't know if I have ever eaten more in my entire life! Afterwards, I realize why no one does much on Ash Wednesday: because they can't move! I laid in bed until past eleven, still drowsy (we didn't get home until nearly four in the morning) and then went and got my ashes.

My head hurts horribly. I don't know that I'll go to a party with Courfeyrac again- though from what I remember, I had a lot of fun.

**March 25, 1829**

My aunt sent me money again. I sent it straight back, despite desperately needing a new coat. I have holes through the elbows.

Courfeyrac gave me his coat today, but it's green. I don't like that, as I am still mourning my father. I know it's past the mourning period, but I want to continue to honor him. I don't wear it out. It will be warm soon anyhow.

**April 14, 1829**

The blossoms are out on the trees and it is beautiful here in the Luxembourg! That silly girl seems to like it- the blossoms are falling from the trees, blown off the branches by the wind- and she is literally dancing about trying to catch them. I am revising my statement. She is both obnoxious and childish!

**May 1, 1829**

Courfeyrac slept at my place all of last week because his lease ended before he found a new apartment, or had the funds to pay the upfront fee. He got his paycheck yesterday, finally, and was able to pay his new landlord the three months' advance and get out of my place.

At first it was fun. We went out at night and then returned very late. But sharing a small, one-room garret with another man is disconcerting. Also, he has dirty habits. All his belongings- including socks and his books- we left out all over my place, and not stacked neatly or anything. I am not extremely neat, but my clothes are hung up and my floor is always swept. I try not to leave things out unless I am using them. I was a little relieved when Courfeyrac left, because I finally had my place to myself again.

One does get used to living alone.

**May 17, 1829**

Today I read parts of _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ The first few scenes I read were much easier than _Romeo and Juliet,_ simply because I'd had more practice. But though the words are beautiful, I find Shakespeare's views on love frustrating. He seems to think that people are just foolish beings who always manage to ruin their own lives. I don't believe we are as daft as he believed.

**May 24, 1829**

I have done some more research about France, and I have come to the conclusion that education is our country's greatest flaw. Not the actual teaching that occurs in France, but how difficult it is to obtain. I realize how privileged I was as a child. My grandfather, cold as he was, did provide me with education, which gave me the opportunity to make myself a living. I am somewhat lazy now, and do not make much money, but I am happy and content that one day, when I need to get a full-time well-paying job, I will be able to. But what about all those young children born without fathers, whose poor mothers struggle to feed them, their fingers bleeding from their jobs as seamstresses? Those children surely do not have education! It is so expensive!

Those poor women who lose their husbands, or never had them in the first place. I believe that women have been given an unfair plight. Their situation is so precarious- they can be happy, healthy, and provided for one day, and then whoever was supporting them could die or leave, and where are they left? To support themselves. But can a women ever support herself here in Paris? In France? Anywhere at this time?

**September 28, 1829**

This past summer was enlightening for me. I spent more and more time alone, which was less than satisfying. I did spend a week with Courfeyrac on a marathon around Paris- we went to nearly every cheap discussion restaurant we could find. I went back to Les Amis for some time, and we managed not to clash. We went about and tried to spread our viewpoints to people, to possibly get some respect for the republic. They are very discontented with King Charles X, which is understandable. I am too, of course. It's our views on what a proper resolution should be where we reach problems.

I honestly do not see what their problems with Napolean are. I am far more religious than most of them are, so I can respect Napolean for his restoration of Catolicism in France. However, they can also see Napolean as a religious hero: he was very much a rationalist, and he attempted to diminish religious prejudices. I do not see where they have bones to pick with the man. He was positively a genius.

Other than spending a lot of time with Les Amis, which I did get tired of, I spent a lot of time working and daydreaming. To be honest, sometimes I am perfectly content to just sit at my desk and write. I have written some scholarly articles that are rather good, to be completely honest. I have been published a few times. Just short articles in periodicals, but I am not a writer by any means. I just enjoy putting my thoughts down on paper. It organizes my mind.

**October 12, 1829**

Nineteen today! Wow. I have been away from my Grandfather for over a year- it is the second birthday I have celebrated away from him. My friends found out it was my birthday and we did celebrate this year, but to be honest it feels stale.

Most days I sit alone and think, read, or write. I love thinking. Nothing is more precious to me than the human mind. Hence reading and writing are my favorite activities, and I do try to set aside at least three or four hours a day to good thinking. I love walking for this reason; walking in cities gives you plenty of food for thought. I return home and I am at peace. My body has worked, having walked for hours, and my mind has exercised. I am free to finish whatever work I have for the day without being bogged down.

But I do get lonely. These friends I have... we never fail to have a good time. But they do make me feel rather in adequat sometimes. They are so active. My political beliefs are just as strong, but I do very little to support them other than write. They are certain they will fight in whatever uprising comes up soon- and they are confident one will emerge in the next few months. They all have mistresses, some of whom actually love them. Needless, they have all slept with them and talk about it frequently. They all have lots of friends. I have them, who are older than me and tease me.

Sometimes I feel far too alone to be happy.

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**Reviews? It will get better soon, I promise. Marius has reached a slump in his life. He knows who he is, but no one else does yet. I always thought him to be a lonely person. He is very strong in terms of his opinions, but he differs from his friends, and thus has few true friends. His favorite things to do are things people do in solitary. Poor Marius.**

**Thoughts, please**!


	8. The Onset of Social Unrest

**December 21, 1829**

About to go to a Christmas party with my friends. I can tell you what will happen right now: too much eggnog will be consumed, and then we will switch to straight alcoholic beverages. Several people will do stupid things, and then a few will end up in the wrong beds.

Happens every time we have a party hosted by Courfeyrac. Of course Enjolras is not coming. He does not approve.

**December 22, 1829**

It's Sunday today, thank the Lord... I need a day of rest. I didn't go nearly as wild as the others, and I still feel like I hit my head against bricks numerous times. Going back to sleep.

**December 31, 1829**

I was invited to a New Year's Eve party with Courfeyrac, and respectfully declined.

**January 11, 1830**

I've decided my next project: by the end of the year, I will know what my passion in life is!

Oh, I forgot to finish writing about my last New Year's resolution. I still exercise, somewhat. Maybe not as much as I should, but I suppose it matters not. It gets done.

Anyway, I know that Napoleon, though respectable, is not a good life's passion. He is dead, and it seems his philosophy on ruling France is not going to be revived anytime soon. I need something other than politics to focus on. I like politics and I like learning, but honestly, I cannot get by on researching something I have little part of forever.

**January 17, 1830**

I have made little headway in terms of finding myself. I rather enjoy thinking, and the closest derivative to thinking that is active, is writing. I put my thoughts on paper, and I find I rather like it. Whether it's my feelings, which I record in some very bad mushy writing, my memoirs, here, or political thoughts, such as essays, I find it relaxing.

But I surely no poet or writer! I have been published a few times. And once in a while I have snuck my own words into my translations, but mainly just for the satisfaction of doing so.

**February 10, 1830**

Winter is the season of the depressing weather. Paris is covered in white, and the grays seems even duller than usual. It is hard to look outside without growing depressed.

**February 23, 1820**

My passion is still running dry. It's not that I don't love words and thoughts, but I have no one to share it with. Most days I spend alone, as I said. And now that it's so cold, I don't see my friends as often. I drag myself out for a walk nearly every day because I know even cold air is good for me.

But despite having a rather full life, I feel rather empty. It's easy to get that way when most of your days are spent in one room, by oneself!

**March 4, 1830**

Beginning to ponder what will happen... there is social unrest.

**March 20, 1830**

Oh my! My heart is pounding. I've read all about our first revolution, and have heard my friends barking for months about overthrowing King Charles, but it never seemed real. Now it looks as though I will be living through a revolution here, in the early years of my life!

Parliament was dissolved yesterday. Apparently elections aren't for another two months- that's fixed, obviously! Our government is completely corrupt, and we, my friends and I, are all fuming. The injustice of it!

On one hand, I am ecstatic to view it from a scholar's perception. What will it be like to have lived through a revolution? That my generation was the great generation to overthrow the monarchy? What's on history books in twenty years will be fresh and strong on my memory!

**March 25 1830**

Today is the first warm day of the year! Sometimes I wish I lived in Nice so I could go swimming out on the beach, and lay in the sand. No one wants to swim in the Seine. Eh! The thought!

**April 6, 1830**

The Luxembourg is alive with people today! It's a beautiful spring here in Paris, and everyone seems to be taking advantage of it!

That man and his daughter aren't here, though. They weren't here yesterday, either, or indeed any of the days when it is gloriously beautiful out. I suppose to avoid the crowds! I don't mind the crowds today, though... it's too beautiful outside to care!

**April 20, 1830**

I am still pondering what is going to happen to the monarchy- they cannot just take away the people's voices and expect us to thank them!

**May 1, 1830**

Enjolras was right. There will most certainly be fighting. The National Guard was dissolved yesterday; I read it in a newspaper. I ran to the café Musain as fast as I could; all the ABC was there. I almost felt a part of it all again.

King Charles just said, essentially, to the people "Get out!" Now the people have no say in government, no say in military. Nothing!

There will be fighting. The question is only, "when?"

**May 17, 1830**

I stopped going to the café Musain again. I realized once more why I stopped going in the first place. The insolence of Enjolras, who acts as if he knows everything, everyone assuming they are right and anyone else is wrong. We got into another argument when I stated that if Napoleon were still in power, or someone he had appointed to act in his manner, none of this would have happened. It escalated, and I left.

**May 22, 1830**

On my walk in the Luxembourg today, a group of young men rather similar to my friends (but somewhat more liberal) were passing out flyers to passerby. It was about the 221, the same old liberal call to fighting as always. I've decided I don't want to fight. I believe that the government's actions are preposterous, but if fighting breaks out, I shan't join in. I will protest, I will vote against the government in the coming elections, but I will not fight. I may write something against the Bourbons, though- I find words to be a more powerful tool.

I have no desire to die for this cause.

I think that man- Monsieur Leblanc- was in the National Guard. He wore his uniform sometimes. He seemed like he was a retired officer, from the way he dressed. I would think he would be against the actions of the monarchy, but he refused a protest flyer. He did not seem to want much to do with those young men passing out flyers. After they came up to him and offered pamphlets, he murmured a decline, gave his arm to his daughter, and left. I suppose he does not agree with them? Or maybe he does not want to be involved? Still, an odd choice.

**May 23, 1830**

I realize Monsieur Leblanc probably would have acted differently if his daughter had not been with him. He would not have retreated as quickly. Mostly likely he did not want her to have anything to do with those rebels. Understandable, I suppose. She seems very sheltered.

I realize none of this is any of my business. This man's political views do not affect me whatsoever. Still, that man seems an enigma! Despite his rather unappealing daughter, who grates on me, he is intriguing. I feel like I would want to talk to him one day, if he would ever come to the gardens without that pesky girl.

**June 14, 1830**

It is disgustingly hot. It has not rained for a week or so… I don't want to take walks, for the sun beats on my neck, which is red and raw now. But I don't want to stay in the stuffy Gorbeau Tenement, with no fans. There is little wind, so opening the windows does little to help.

I took my blankets from my bed and stored them away. At night, I lay undressed on top of the sheets, not sleeping. It's so hot! I open the window when I try to retire, and it does cool off a little, only to heat the room again as soon as the sun comes back up. Eh!

**June 17, 1830 **

I am to be published! My article on whether or not to revolt is being published in a semi-liberal newspaper. Not liberal, because I renounce fighting as the solution, but not conservative, because my viewpoints are liberal. I point out that the 'pen is mightier than the sword' and if we wanted to have our voices heard, we should use them, not our man power, because we are instantly diminished the minute we fight, and shot down by the government.

We shall see my response! It's under a pseudonym because I was nervous about my friends reading it. I suppose if I was a real writer I would not worry about publishing my views, but I am just a nineteen-year-old thus far. But my voice isn't really heard, is it? I am a hypocrite!

Oh, what does it matter anyway? My friends make fun of me all the time. I am the laughing stock of the ABC, and I did not do anything to deserve it. It's not just because of Napoleon, but they chide me about women and about not being any fun. I'm several years younger than them all, I should point out, and I don't go to parties and sleep with women I don't even know. I'm sorry they chide me for it.

As weepy and dramatic as it sounds, it hurts when your friends just keep you around for laughs. I feel Courfeyrac actually likes me, but he might be the only one. It makes me feel rather lonely almost all the time. Oh well- I have plenty to learn! I suppose my mind is better company than any human anyway.

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**Can you guys please, PLEASE review this? I would very much appreciate it!**


	9. A Turnaround

**July 15 1830**

I realize it was rather unfair of me to say that about my friends. They are doing their best in life, just as I try to do. And after all, it is rather absurd of me to assume that no one likes me. Every time I see them, they are nice. Yes, they make jokes about me- more about me than anyone else- but everyone is laughed at. I always enjoy myself when I spend time with them. I should not be so extreme with my statements.

**July 27, 1830**

It has happened- the anger has been ignited. The fighting has begun! All day, turmoil could be felt, as if there was boiling water underneath the cobblestones. But I went out to get some bread for dinner when I was busying myself with work, and I had to run home. People were throwing stones, screaming, tearing up the streets.

It's quiet now, because it's very dark and people can't see to fight, but mark my words it will continue tomorrow.

**July 28, 1830**

Courfeyrac came by this morning. He was was part of the rioting, but managed to avoid the violence. He let me know what it had been like from the inside.

"It was exhilarating, Marius!" he told me. "I felt my blood pumping from my heart, all the way to my finger tips! I felt _alive!_ The changes are coming, my friend!"

I wonder what our generation will have to pay in order to see these changes.

**July 29, 1830**

It makes me laugh to imagine my grandfather at this time. He has royalist beliefs, but had no power, and if therefore not in any danger. Still, I am certain his mouth is sounding off, and has been sounding off for days now. He is probably shaking in the comfort of his large, rich man's home in the Marais, all the doors barred.

I have scarcely been out all three days. The streets seem wild, but there are no passersby, just rebels and soldiers. Out of my window, I can see two barricades. I can only imagine how many there are in the rest of the city; I hear the shots at night. I pray for the men fighting. I wonder who will mourn them. Their cause may win, but many will surely die.

The city is falling all around me. It is revolution.

**August 7, 1830**

We are no longer a Bourbon country. A constitutional monarchy has been placed in France! Though it is not freedom, it is not a republic, it is the closest we can hope for now. Progress is progress, and I applaud it.

**August 21, 1830**

I have resumed normal life. The fighting was fast and furious, just as the ABC predicted it would be. In three days, France was overturned and reorganized- but the revolution, per se, was much longer than three days. It had taken years to get to that point. But in three days, we had a new government.

One of my friends, or one of Courfeyrac's friends, really, Guillaume died in the revolution. Several others fought, but the bloodshed scarcely touched me. My friends managed to be part of the revolution without becoming martyrs for it. I wonder if I should have participated? Of course it is cowardly of my to want to participate only after knowing how few people died. But I did not have the motivation to die for this cause.

**September 4, 1830**

The city has quieted down. Oddly, despite what has happened and all the changes that should have occurred, very little has changed in my every day life.

**September 19, 1830**

Courfeyrac tried to set me up with Guillaume's mistress. Yes. He tried to set me up with his _dead friend's mistress._Remind me, when I have a girl, never to introduce her to Courfeyrac. Her name was Annette. We did not get on very well. Actually, when I think of it now, she was very nice. But Courfeyrac was pushy and was whispering things in my ear: '"Take her arm," "compliment her eyes!" "Say something witty, God damn it!" and I became very stressed out, and stopped talking. Honestly, he needs to stop.

**October 14, 1830**

The Luxembourg is beautiful this morning! We are in the prime time of fall, where the leaves are gorgeous, and the blue sky is breathtaking against the reds and oranges and yellows. It is cool out, and I am enjoying the weather. Oh, and two days ago I turned twenty. Courfeyrac came to me in the morning, and invited me to host a party. I did not want to get a cake- I don't have the money nor do I care- and so he took me out onto the street and sang at the top of his voice. Several people stopped and stared. I hate him sometimes!

We went to the Luxembourg, and Courfeyrac laughed that Mademoiselle Lenoir still comes every day.

"Yes," I said, "And they sit there for _hours_!"

I don't know why her presence at the Luxembourg bothers me. She does not bother me the way other girls do- because she really is not like them, she is younger and not flirty and stupid like the girls Courfeyrac introduces me to. But she talks incessantly and that is obnoxious.

**November 24, 1830**

I am taking on a lawyer's job again- I have not done so in almost a year. I am going to defend a man who had a debacle with his rent, nothing very important. When one has been out of the circuit for a year, the best cases do not float your way.

**December 17, 1830**

I sort of won the case- the man's fine was brought down significantly, but he still had to pay it. I say, people don't like hiring twenty-year-olds to fight their civil cases. I did get offered another case though! And I am going to be writing the introductions to several different books. The publisher I translate for finally read some of the things I sent to him, and he was impressed at how well-researched they were. Ha! I am not a daft pedant! I will be very busy, however. He needs the manuscripts in very quickly- one in January, one three weeks later, and then two in March, while I am fighting cases. I shall have near no free time!

**April 18, 1831**

After a very long time stuffing my days full of work, I can finally relax! The last of my cases for a long time is finished- I doubt I will busy myself with lawyering for a while. I have no desire to. I realize why I stopped in the first place. I have more money now, though- not that lawyering pays much, but I have done more work in the past five months than in my entire life. Of course, Courfeyrac borrowed fifty francs before I could spend much. I don't mind, though, because I know he'll pay me back. He's an honest man.

Of interest, I finally went to the Luxembourg again. I'd stopped going in October. It's funny, Mademoiselle Lenoir was there with her father. I did not recognize her at first. It seems she's grown up in the past six months; I thought it was perhaps he sister. But it is not, when one sees her face, which is very lovely now. She was not talking quite so much, though; maybe that was why she seems lovely?

**April 22, 1831**

I revise my previous statement; she talks just as much as she ever did. Ah!

**May 1, 1831**

Courfeyrac returned my money today, as he said he would. He had to wait through two paychecks, but he returned his word. He was teasing me as I studied, and begged me to come 'home' to the Musain. Though he disapproves of my political opinions, I still have the impression that he likes me. Still, though he wants me to come back and though he likes me, the Musain is not my home any longer, and it never shall be.

**May 18, 1831**

The girl still talks and talks and talks. At first I thought she had grown up quite a lot, but I look closer and see she is still a girl. Perhaps sixteen? She is very beautiful, it is obvious, but no man or boy ever stares at her or comes to speak to her. I think it is because her father is such a foreboding presence, or because of how innocent she seems. Hardly like a girl who would ever go out for fun, the way Courfeyrac's girls do. But it's not important- there are hundreds of beautiful girls, and I have met many of them. They all seem to be the same, however different they seem at first glance.

**May 25, 1831**

Maybe I should get a new jacket? I can afford one now, and my old one nearly has holes in the elbows.

**June 4, 1831**

I find myself wondering about that young girl, but honestly... she is not that impressive. There is nothing more to it than curiosity.

**June 16, 1831**

I am in the Luxembourg. I wore my new suit today. I wonder if she's read anything I've written that's been published? We'll see what happens- today, I will see if she looks at my funny at all. If she does, I might have a point in my curiosity. But I've had interest in girls before, and it felt much like this. In fact, when I was interested in Mademoiselle Adalie, it was much more powerful than this. I was nervous in her presence and thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and that she was clearly the kindest too. I wondered about her habits- odd ones, like what her favorite food was, and whether she liked to go out in gardens and walk or whether she liked reading and drawing. This girl... she is pretty, but I don't see whether she is the most beautiful. It's just that she's pretty. And I think of her, but nowhere near as much. this will fade within the week, I am sure of it.

She has just arrived with her father. Hmm.

**June 18, 1831**

I do not recognize myself. I... I don't know what to say. I think I am a completely different person than I was three days ago.

Her face is in my head every time I close my eyes.

But it will fade, won't it? I just have a sudden interest in her, nothing more. She really is very pretty.

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**Reviews!**


	10. Ursula

**June 25, 1831**

I... I do not know how to write it. A week ago ago, I went to the Luxembourg, and I went and sat by the bench, like usual. I had been paying more and more attention to Her, the girl, Mademoiselle Lenoir... but it was nothing special. And then she walked by me, and when she and her father passed me, she stared down at me, and our eyes met. I had seen her eyes before, very blue, gazing around her, and sometimes looking at me, but it was not like this. She looked at me for a long time, longer than any passing glance.

And... something happened. I can't say I have ever felt anything remotely like this before- not with any of the beautiful girls Courfeyrac introduced me to, not with the girls from church, not with any woman ever, and I have not even spoken to her. I can't say what I feel. I went home after that feeling odd, but it did not set in until the next day, when I could not get her sweet face out of my head. The feeling only grew few several days, until I finally examined myself and realized that I had fallen in love with her. She is so beautiful, but that is not all- as I said, being friends with Courfeyrac, I have met dozens of beautiful women. But when she looked at me, I saw her soul, or something. I still don't understand it all the way, but I felt her gaze pierce me, and not just because of the coolness of her blue eyes.

When I saw her in the Luxembourg today, I almost shook, I was so nervous. I think if I had the opportunity to speak with her now, I would say something completely inarticulate. It's almost like I am afraid of her. I have learned so many things in my lifetime. I have read countless books, know more about the law and politics and French history than I know what to do with, and can express my words with a pen with exceptional skill. But I cannot talk to this girl, who is almost a lady, but is somehow not. There is something in her gaze that says she is not as prim and proper as the 'ladies' I met through my grandfather. This is not to say she is like Courfeyrac's girls- wild and uninhibited. More like she still _feels_ things, and is not crushed by the stifling nature of society.

This could all be nonsense. I have never uttered a word to her. I realized that after all my time complaining of how she talked incessantly, I never listened to anything she said. I would give years of my life to hear her speak now! Oh, how foolish I was! How foolish I am!

**June 30, 1831**

Maybe this is a clue? She left a handkerchief on the bench today, with a 'U' embroidered on it. I was the only person around- maybe she wants me to have it! How dainty, how subtle! Nothing more than a handkerchief, but it was on her bench. I think her name must be Ursula? What other 'U' names are there?

**July 2, 1831**

I honestly have no recognition of myself! I acted like a jealous, raving fool today. I think of it sometimes, and think of how wrong I was, and then a minute later, jealousy claims me once more.

What happened was that the wind, powerful today, blew through the gardens, and swept her skirts up. I looked away, _of course, _but I was horrified. She should be more careful! Honestly, someone could have _seen!_ Now, of course, I realize it was not her fault at all- she swept her skirts down immediately, and looked about to see if anyone noticed. I looked away, pretending not to see her, or to have noticed what happened. Of course, I notice _everything _about her, but she does not need to know that. At the time, though, I was offended. It did not help when a man walked by, an invalid, and winked at me, as if acknowledging what we had seen... and as if we were two desperate men at a dance hall or something. To wink! Over... over _her! _I slammed my book shut and left.

I feel rather silly now.

**July 4, 1831**

I am a complete fool. It's as if just that one glance has changed my entire outlook on life. I see her face every time I close my eyes, and it's as if I can't go a minute without thinking of her. I long for her all the time, I wish she was near me, I wish I was in the Luxembourg, able to smile at her from far away.

I used to walk up and down the path and pass by she and her father a few times- now I stay on a bench, and sit there for the entire length of their visit, coming earlier and leaving later. But I sit far away. I swear, it's like I'm afraid of her.

I spend every minute I'm not in the Luxembourg in a kind of anxious ecstasy- I await the minute when I'll see her again, I plan to greet her, to smile at her, and think that _today_ will be the day when I will do something. Of course I never do anything. I leave every day happy to have seen her, and cursing myself for being a coward.

I am ashamed to admit I followed she and her father home a few days ago. They live in the rue de l'Ouest. I watched their windows until they went dark- I did not see anything, or really even try. But there is something about seeing a house, and knowing your beloved is inside it, that makes you want to stay. I know if I said that out loud, I would sound mad. But it's true.

**July 7, 1831**

Courfeyrac and I went out last night, and he noticed something was different about me. I honestly hadn't thought of telling anyone- and I didn't- but it never occurred to me someone would guess. I wouldn't speak to any of the women he wanted to introduce me to- not that that's incredibly out of the ordinary. I usually _meet _them, but I never go out with them alone. This time I refused flat-out. What if she- Ursula- saw me and I was with someone else? Some meaningless other girl who I didn't even like but Courfeyrac wanted me to go out with...? I would never forgive myself.

Courfeyrac has not come to the Luxembourg recently, and I am glad. She's so beautiful now, he would definately prey on her. That would kill me- he is more charming than me, he's better lookign than me, he knows how to talk to women, his clothes are not threadbare. All this I know. And it's as if he has no fear. I, on the other hand, _cannot _approach her now. The thought is completely out of the question. But he would, almost effortlessly, approach her, kiss her hand, praise her beauty, and then have her hooked like he does with all the other girls. That would just crush me. I could not bear to go out to dinner with him, and have him introduce me to his latest lady-love, and have it be _Her, _who I already know I love. I could not bear to meet her in that context. Worse would be going to his apartment, and watching him walk her out, teasing her flirtatiously and retying his cravat, watching her kiss him...

Why am I doing this to myself? I should not daydream in this self-torturing way. Besides, I do not even believe it. Right now I have this picture in my head of what kind of girl she is; I could be completely wrong, but something tells me I am not. She is a Mademoiselle, through and through, a lady. She lives with her father, but her mother is dead- why else would the two of them go out alone every day? She is faithful and religious, and loves her father dearly. They are poor, but not destitute. She is not like Courfeyrac's _grisettes. _She is dignified, beautiful, educated, and above all else, good. That description just fits.

Anyway, she looks to be about sixteen. There is no way Courfeyrac would try anything... she is too young. I mean, I could be wrong about her age, but she looks about three or four years younger than me. Courfeyrac is already several years older than I am. There'd be an eight-year age gap, at _least._ For goodness' sake, she lives with her father still! It would be completely wrong! To him, she's practically a child. Or maybe I just think so because she looks so innocent, so trusting?

Why am I still writing about this? I am driving myself mad!

**July 14, 1831**

She smiled at me today. Or rather, she smiled in my general direction and I am hoping it was at me? Oh, maybe she noticed that I have poor quality clothes? I am wearing my new suit, though.

I've realized recently that my friends are hard to talk to, and I can't really confide in them without seeming like I'm complaining unnecessarily. What if I really had someone to be with, to talk to, to love? Maybe she's been sent to me, and once I get the courage to talk to her, I won't be so alone anymore.

**July 21, 1831**

She did not come to the Luxembourg day. I know because I stayed all day, and never once glimpsed her. I hope she is not ill.

**July 22, 1831**

She was absent again today, but I needn't worry. She and her father stayed away before, like during the revolution. They'll be back soon.

**July 24, 1831**

It's been four days now. I checked with her porter- they've moved, no address left.

I... I don't know what to say.

**July 27, 1831**

I couldn't imagine ever feeling this empty when someone leaves your life, especially someone you don't even know. But it's like just her presence in my life, even without the exchange of words, warmed my entire life. And now I'm alone again, only it's worse than it ever was without her. I suddenly realize how completely lonely I am.

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	11. Cosette

**February 21, 1832**

I have not written in months because there was nothing to write about. I've started a thousand poems and not finished one. I can count on one hand the amount of times in the past six months I've been out with my friends.

The only reason I can write today is I had something of a restart to my heart. I saw her, and lost her again all in the space of a few hours.

**February 24, 1832**

I have moved from the Gorbeau house so as to clean my record and be sure I am not linked to the atrocity that happened there.

My only hope is that I asked the Jondrette girl to help me find Her address. I have not seen the girl since, though, and I suspect she was arrested. Not that it matters; she probably would not have been much help anyway.

I live with Courfeyrac now. I watch him with his mistresses and I just know he doesn't understand. He's never felt this emptiness, the utter grief of loving and losing someone. I watch him with his endless parade of mistresses, and I ask God for help. All I want is to sit beside her- I would be endlessly grateful for ten minutes with her. If I heard her say my name, my heart would stop. If I knew her name, it would be enough for me.

**April 1, 1832**

Dare I hope? The Jondrette girl- her name is Eponine, bless her- found me Her address.

She lives in a very secluded house, with a thick garden. She took me there yesterday. I sat outside the gate for hours, but I did not see Her. Still, it did not matter- I have a direction again.

**April 6, 1832**

I have spent nearly a week outside her garden, and I have seen her the last two days. She seems to come out in the evening, after dinner time, and sit outside by herself.

I saw her yesterday, but only glimpses. The garden is so heavily crowded with trees and bushes that I only saw her when she walked by at a certain angle. So tonight, when she came outside, I could not help it. I forced one of the bars, and it opened all too easily, as if this was what I was supposed to be doing all along. I stayed far behind her, always hiding behind the bushes and trees. There is a bench she sits on.

She went back inside, and I heard her singing through the shutters. Her voice is beautiful- oh what I would give to hear her speak!

**April 8, 1832**

Tonight I walked dangerously close to her in the garden. I followed her walking, finding that she was close enough to touch. I would not dream of doing so, but it was good to know that, after all this time without her, I could have reached out and touched her. But I was careless. The moon shined at a dangerous angle, and I think she saw my shadow- I fled. But I still think she saw me.

But really, is that the worst thing in the world? Maybe if she saw me, we could finally progress.

**April 11, 1832**

I cannot believe I did it. She was in front of me, and I had the letter I'd written her burning a hole in my pocket. It is a collection of the beginnings of poem's I'd written since knowing her, in loving her and in losing her, and then in finding her again. And suddenly, I saw this big stone, and I knew what to do. I picked it up when she walked away and put the letter beneath it. Not knowing what else to do, I fled before she found me.

**April 12, 1832**

I know there is only one thing for me today. She has read my letter, most likely. If she has, she surely knows someone loves her. I do not hope to think she might remember me. But I still am terrified at the prospect of coming clean to her. For after tonight, there are two distinct ways to go: I will see her again, or I will not.

I am not the kind of man to push anything on her. If she does not want me to continue seeing her, I'll have nothing to do but leave. I cannot imagine that.

It's almost time for me to leave. I'll say a prayer, and then go. God be with me!

**April 13, 1832; two o'clock in the morning**

I am no longer alone.

I have no way else to say it! There is nothing for me to say...

Except there is everything to say! I just returned home. She is so different from how I expected her to be, except she is exactly as I thought... oh, this makes absolutely no sense! I'll just try to organize my thoughts.

She is the sweetest person I have ever met. She is so kind and so good. She is the type of person who, with two words exchanged and a good enough look into her eyes, and you know her soul. But not because she gives it away... I feel like I am the first person to see her for who she is, despite how she talked about her father.

She clasped my hand, and told me of her dreams and her desires. I told her everything about me. She asked me to come back tomorrow- well, today, I suppose!

Of course I am going!

Her name is Cosette, by the way. Did I write that already? Cosette Fauchelevent. I've said it to myself a hundred times, especially on my walk home. I am in love with Cosette.

She is real now.

She loves me too, she said so. I hated to leave, but I was the one who said I should. I heard the bells from the church ringing one o'clock in the morning, and I know I should not keep her out that late, so I left. That was when she asked if I would be coming back the next day.

She smells like lavender. Sweet, but herbal and with spice; not sweet like sugar. She tastes the same way- we kissed, but I don't know who kissed who. I just know that one minute, we were standing and I was terrified that I'd done something wrong, and the next, we were sitting on the bench- the one where I put my letter- and her lips were against mine.

I don't know what Courfeyrac feels when he kisses his girls, but it's surely not that. I felt my heartbeat in my fingers and toes, and it beat so hard in my chest that I could feel it in my stomach. My heart was beating in my ears, on the ends of my hair and even on my eyelashes. I knew then, like I hadn't known before, that I needed to marry her. But I would wait forever if I needed to.

When she looked at me, I realized I would do anything for her. I would walk on broken glass for miles, I'd go through torture, I'd kill, I'd die. But at the same time, I knew she would never ask me to do any of that. Cosette wouldn't ask anything.

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**Sorry for such a long time without an update! Look forward to more!**


	12. Falling in Love, and Absolute Loneliness

**April 20, 1832**

I do not think I have ever been happier in my life. I come to see Cosette every night. She's told me anything I could ask of her so far... oh my goodness, she is wonderful. She is so sweet, so kind and understanding. I have not felt self-conscious around her once.

I asked her what she wanted out of life, and Cosette looked so surprised that I'd asked that I wondered if she had ever been asked that before. She said she wanted health, and she wanted the people she loved to be happy. I pressed her on- what did she want?

What she wanted was simple. She'd gotten embarrassed, but I finally got her to tell me. She said that what she wanted more in the world was to be a mother. She said she wanted a large family, so her children could play together and never be lonely. She said that it was the only thing she'd really ever wanted, and something she felt meant to do.

"It's not exciting," she'd said to me. "I'm sure you expected me to say something interesting, like traveling toChinaor discovering something that helps people. But that's all I want. I think it's what I'm supposed to do."

I think she is the most beautiful person I will ever meet, and not just in face. I can't think of anyone who would be better at being a mother. Parents should be loving and gentle and patient and practical and she is all those things. Any child of hers would be lucky- surely more lucky than me, with my Grandfather and no mother. She must have a wonderful father... I do hope I can meet him under good circumstances one day.

There's something else about her that I can't get over. I know love is supposed to hang onto you this way, but I didn't expect it to haunt me in the middle of the night and tug on my heart this way.

**May 4, 1832**

I have fallen in love.

This sounds completely redundant now, after all these entries about being in love, but this time I really, really am in love. I sound like a horrible person, but I don't think I was before.

I wanted to be in love. I was lonely, I had no one to love truly. I wanted to love someone. I found Cosette, and sensed something different about her. That's why I was intrigued. I was obsessed, and could not get her face out of my head; I knew I _could _love her. Then I talked to her, and I loved her... it's still different than being in love though. I loved Cosette, I adored her. I wanted to learn everything, I wanted to be with her and have her love me.

But tonight something changed. I was staring at her, and it occurred to me how beautiful, how perfect and how amazing she is. I told her, and she scolded me. She was hurt, offended in some way that I'd called her perfect, and we had a real discussion. She says her father pressures her, completely unknowingly, to be perfect. She says sometimes she feels like she's going to break, so scream out and cry under the pressure. She asked me if I could only love her, no expectations and no talk of perfection.

Suddenly I realized I could. I was in love with her, a person, a human being, a living, breathing, flawed and wonderful person. She'd pressed me and scolded me and told me about something that hurt her, and it only made me realize how much I loved her. It's clear to me now that I can never be away from her again- this is it, this is who God wants me to be with, more so than any kind of light love, or even a strong love. This is more than that. This is a bond or some kind that I don't understand, and it's so powerful it frightens me.

Cosette talked about children a few weeks ago, and I just thought of her as a mother. But now I think of her with _my _children. I want to be her husband, to live with her as a couple, to have children together. I want to wake up next to her and come home to her at the end of the day and see her holding my son in her arms. I've seen all need to.

It's clear that Cosette is far from ready for this. I'm young, but she's even younger, and has not experienced much yet. I don't want to scare her. She says she loves me, but I don't think she would be ready for this kind of declaration. I visit her every night and she seems to be happy with me, but she has no idea how much she means to me. She's everything. Her smile, her touch, her voice... she's everything.

**May 26, 1832**

Sometimes I want to take her out of that garden and show her the world- or even justParis. She's so sheltered, she's scarcely been out of her house. I want to take her about in the night, show her all the places I love and watch as she discovers the world. But I also shy away from taking her away from the places she's supposed to be, because I fear she'll break.

I want to ask her to marry me. I know it's impulsive and crazy, but it's not; I've been thinking of it for almost two months now. If I can get permission from my grandfather, I'll talk to her first- I mean, I have to make sure this is something she wants- but then I'll ask her father. We love each other so much, it would be so wrong to put all that to waste.

But not yet. No; I'll wait a few months, at least. If I could, I would marry her tonight. I'd go to the garden and pick her up and carry her to the church and marry her then. But that's not proper and she's not ready.

But someday. Someday, it will happen. Someday, she'll be my wife.

I am so happy with the world these days. I don't even care that I'm poor, or that Courfeyrac is getting more and more annoyed with me. He is frustrated that I won't tell him what's happening in my life, and that I won't go out with him in the evenings. Moreover, he's upset because something is brewing in the city and I could care less. I don't care. I am so, so happy and hopeful. Once I wondered what my life would bring, and whether I would be happy. Now I know all I need to be happy is Cosette; all at once, it's so simple and yet having her would make me the wealthiest man alive.

**June 2nd**

I can't hold my hands still. I can't see straight. I can't walk straight.

I am crying and I don't know it. I have no idea what's happening to my body, because my mind is somewhere else, left behind in the rue plumet.

Cosette is going away. Cosette is leaving me. She is going toEngland.

I may very well lose her forever. A week ago I had nothing but hope. Tonight all I have is despair.

**June 4th**

My name is Marius Pontmercy. Carry my body to my grandfather, M. Gillenormand, Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, No. 6, in the Marais.

**August 30, 1832**

I can hold a pen once more. I have woken in my grandfather's house, and finally my spouts of delusions have subsided somewhat.

I need to find her.

I grow weary; I cannot write for long amounts of time. My head swims. My shoulder is agony, every move I make is like torture. I cannot breath in fully without grimacing. Nothing compares to the fact that she is not here, and that I have absolutely no idea where to find her.

I pray each night, but so far, I have no sign of her. No one mentions her, not even my grandfather, who knows full well that I am in love and that I went to the barricades because I lost her. But even he pretends she never existed.

After all the time without her, without a word of her, without even a whisper of her whereabouts or her well-being, I almost wonder if she was real at all. Those two months with her in the garden- they did happen, didn't they? If they didn't, my life would mean nothing... it would have amounted to nothing.

I read my old entries, I see all this about her, but I still am doubtful.

My friends... every last one of them is dead. What is so frightening is how fast it happened. I missed almost all of their deaths... I would be talking to them one minute, turn to shoot or to look over the barricade or even tie someone's wound, and then one of them would be lying dead on the cobblestones.

I saw Courfeyrac die. He was across the street from me, but I saw. I see it every night, every time I close my eyes. My best friend in the world, gone in a second. I felt the blows almost as if they were hitting me. I felt the blows despite thinking I could not feel anything at all at those points. Courfeyrac was gone- how many times had I wished he would leave me alone, stop bothering me? Well now he would never bother me again. I could not miss him more if I tried.

Everyone is gone. I have no one. I am so alone that I sometimes cry out and try to reach for someone- anyone!- only to find my grandfather. Courfeyrac is gone, and with him all of the Amis. Cosette is gone, and with her, everything that mattered. There is truly something worse than dying, and that is living without the people you love. I have only been aware of my surroundings for a week now, and I have aged thirty years.

_I must find her._

I am seized by fear in the middle of the night. Cosette's father was at the barricades, was he not? Why did I not talk to him while he was there? Because I was afraid. But now I realize something even more frightening than the prospect of his disapproval- what is he had died?

If her father is dead, where is Cosette? She has no family. She has no money.

I must find her. I'll die without her.

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**Sorry for the 800 years without an update!**

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	13. At Last!

**September 6, 1832**

It occurs to me that I do not even know where to begin. I woke up today in the middle of the day, and had no recollection of falling asleep the night before; it was as if my mind jumped fro mid-afternoon to mid-afternoon, with nothing in the middle. My body is betraying me, and so is my mind. But back to Cosette.

She could be in England. If she is, I was led to believe she would be in London. But a fat lot of help that gives me! I have her name, and all I can do is go to London and ask for her and her father. I do not even know what her father does for a living! What a stupid man I am! How could I have spent all that time with her and never asked what her father did to earn money? Besides, I will not be able to go to England for several months. I cannot even stand yet, much less travel to a foreign country.

I worry that she hates me now. She might have gotten my letter, but what if she hadn't? Then every day I spend in this bed is a day she thinks I have failed her. I promised to meet her in the rue Plumet all those months ago, and never showed up. Who knows what she thinks of me now? Maybe she has given up on me. Maybe she does not care whether I died. Maybe she _did_ care, but has already mourned and is moving on.

I hope she's happy, in the least. If I can never see her again, that's the most I can wish for. But how will I know if she's happy?

Another hugely perplexing problem is also on my plate, and I also have no place to start. _Who brought me back from the barricade?_ It took me a few days to even wrap my head around the fact that I must have been carried here, but now I realize how miraculous that is. I only remember being shot in the shoulder and falling, only to have someone catch me.

The porter said that a man, covered in muck and who-knows-what had brought me in, and everyone thought I was dead. The man was quiet and left before anyone had a chance to ask him what was wrong. Basque said roughly the same thing, except he remembered an Inspector being with the man, but nothing else.

What kind of man would risk his life for someone they don't know? Maybe I do know them... but I can't think of anyone who would do that for me.

**September 12, 1832**

I can't go anything! It's so horribly frustrating! I am allowed up from my bed for a few minutes every day now, but not all at once. The doctor says this is to help strengthen my muscles gradually, which I suppose makes sense. But I am not even allowed to sit myself at a table to eat; I take every meal on a tray in my bed, like a sick child.

My grandfather and I are getting along, surprisingly. But I have not given him a chance to betray me; I trust the minute he can, he will. He always liked being the one with the power. Now that I can do little else but lay and listen to his rants, he's happy.

**September 19, 1832**

My body continues to betray me. But so does my mind! I find I cannot remember much about the barricades. I remember having to choose which man to keep at the barricade, and a man- possibly Cosette's father- saving me from that Purgatory. I remember Courfeyrac's death, and Eponine's death, but little else. Just those things that shook me to the core. The other things are just like flashes through smoke- I have dim recollections, but no details.

That is a real problem whenever I try to remember who else was at the barricades. I feel like, if I had a good, strong hold on everyone who was at the barricades, I might be able to think of my rescuer. But alas, I cannot get a handle on anyone's face, other than les amis.

I can do little else but hold a pen or a book. Reading does not interest me now. All I am waiting for is for when I am reasonably strong enough for my grandfather to listen to any request of mine. The doctor has said I am out of danger- thank goodness- but I need to be almost entirely healthy again before I ask him for anything. I cannot very well ask to marry, and then ask for a passport, and have him dismiss it with a "Take a nap, dear Marius, you'll feel better in the morning. It's just your delusions acting up again!" I think I would rip his head off!

**September 26, 1832**

My aunt asked me who Cosette was today when she brought me some soup to eat. I looked at her for a long time, utterly confused about how she knew (I'm certain Grandfather did not mention Cosette's name to my aunt... it would not be in his nature to apply anything personal or human to a young woman. He would just call Cosette something like 'that little lassie'). She told me I talked in my fever, and I mentioned that name most of the time.

I had no idea, but it doesn't surprise me. I have visions of her, from my illness, though I know she was not here. I could not answer my aunt, though. Cosette occupies most of my thoughts, and is such a huge presence in my mind, and yet I cannot explain her to my aunt. I can't just sum her up in a few words. If we were betrothed, I could- my fiancé. But now, since she is as far away from me as a person can be- utterly lost- I have no word for her.

**October 4, 1832**

So much has happened!

I finally was strong enough to talk to my grandfather, and... he gave me permission to marry! That's right! No hesitations, nothing! He just said yes, almost before I could get the question out of my mouth! Then he told me that all of my bandages have come from _Cosette!_ Meaning she was here, in Paris, this entire time, and she knew all about my illness. She's been making all the bandages they've been using to dress my wounds, bless her. She hasn't been able to visit me because everyone thought it would be improper (damn them) but her father has been visiting on her behalf.

Then I saw her again! Her father sealed the betrothal, allowing us to be married, and it was done. She sat by me and we both talked and told each other everything we'd missed in the past four months- she had much more news than I, seeing as I was not myself for nearly three of those months.

She asked me if I still loved her. That just kills me.

She stayed for a very long time. She came around one in the afternoon, and did not leave until nearly dinner time- I wanted her to stay, and she didn't want to leave, but my grandfather insisted I eat dinner alone so I could go to bed early because I'd had "enough excitement for one day." As if I was six!

But I can't even be mad, because I am so, so happy! I'm happier than I've been in months! Happier even than when I first came to her garden, for now we are going to be married! I can't even believe it- I keep having to remind myself. Perhaps tomorrow, when I wake up, it will have sunk in. She's coming back tomorrow after lunch again. I can hardly wait until then. I'm planning on trying to sleep as long as I can so I don't have to wait very long.

She said she never got my farewell letter, but that the day after I was delivered to my grandfather's, her father had gotten the news about me and Cosette was informed. I asked her if she knew who rescued me, she didn't. I didn't think she would- if my grandfather didn't know, why would Cosette? But it was worth a try at least.

I suppose my grandfather must have put more stock into my relationship with Cosette after all, because if he did not tell the Fauchelevents about me, who did? He also told me he was planning our marriage before I even asked. I suppose I should thank him.

But not now. Tonight, I am going to bed and resting easy. For once, I don't have to plan ahead. I will just enjoy this!


	14. The Wedding Night, Convict, and Triumph

**February 17th, five in the morning**

Cosette is sleeping beside me. She's curled up next to me, and this book is on top of the covers, somewhat precarious so I don't disturb her. She only just fell asleep a few minutes ago... we've been awake talking for hours. At around three we went downstairs into the kitchens, because we were both famished... Neither of us ate much at dinner, being somewhat preoccupied (and nervous, to be honest). I tried to fall asleep, but quickly realized I will not be able to. There's far too much to think about.

I will not write about any of it here... it feels wrong to tell even this book. I can say though that is was not at all like what people say it's like. Her head is resting on the pillow next to me, and her lips are very red from kissing. I'm sure mine are too, I can feel them burning, but in a good way. Previously, I would have cared if someone were going to laugh at me tomorrow, but I really don't right now.

There's one thing I must admit to, and I am very disappointed about it. Immediately after Cosette's nightgown was off and she was naked, the first thing I thought of was... _Courfeyrac!_ That's right! It's awful! His face just popped into my mind, because I knew that, wherever he is resting, he was right over my shoulder at that moment, laughing. Not cruelly, because I think he'd see this as his accomplishment, somehow (I have no idea how he could twist the situation to make it something that he won for me, but I'm sure he would). Anyway, it was not too terribly difficult to push the thought from my mind. The fact that it had been there, however, was shameful.

Cosette just stirred- I have a candle lit, and I don't want to wake her up. I'm going to try to sleep now, or at least put this book down and snuff the candles.

**February 17, 1833**

So this morning I thought absolutely _nothing_ could disrupt my soundness of mind. Yet something did, nonetheless.

I don't know what to do or say about this man, this stranger who is Cosette's father. I'm utterly shocked that I never prodded into the enigma that he was. In the past few months there have been several oddities concerning the wedding and the details- Cosette's entire family being dead, for one, and she not knowing this. The fact that she does not know her mother's name, or who her father is... all this is strange, I know. But I was more focused on her than any of these strange pieces of information. To be honest, it does not change very much for me, personally, if this man goes and leaves. Cosette and I are still married, and he is out of our life.

I would have married her either way, of course, but I understand why he waited until after the wedding to tell me. I would not go into a contract with lies written on the pages- I just checked, all of our marriage documents are true, despite this fake identity. Though I would have married her anyway, I am sure my grandfather would have had something to say, six hundred thousand francs or no. So it's better that I'm finding out now.

What could he have done? I've already started some research into the past, for this Jean Valjean, and have not found much. However, it's Ash Wednesday and so I can't go to the library to find any old records. Tomorrow I'll have more information.

For now I will put it out of my mind. There's nothing I can do to change it, except to make it as easy on Cosette as possible.

How I wish I could tell her what all this is! I made this man a promise, but I already resent it, because it means I'm lying to her... yet I do not want to be the one to tell her all this, and break her heart. I don't think the fact that he is a convict would bother her very much, it's honestly that he never trusted her with the information that would hurt her. Of course, for me, I'm more concerned with the crimes he may have committed. What if he was a murderer? There is no possibility for him to have any extended relationship with Cosette if he's a murderer!

But why would he have given us all that money? Maybe it's stolen! What if I am approached for stealing this huge sum? I can't even deal with these possibilities!

Cosette is calling me. I'll write more later.

**February 20, 1833**

I'm almost certain he's a murderer; other than Inspector Javert, who he almost certainly killed, there is a man named Monsieur Madeleine who is known to have been murderered by a Jean Valjean. Tonight, when he comes, I am asking Basque to make the room as unwelcome as possible. I will not hesitate to say that I am afraid.

I am so surprised, as well. Cosette tells stories, and he seems to loving and gentle in them. This docile, quiet old man seems capable of no harm whatsoever. Yet I think of his possible strength- he is a very large man, after all- and I feel a chill. Nine years ago, he could have been capable of much more. He could surely have done those things. He _has_ done those things. To think- to kill a man in cold blood!

**February 24, 1833**

I would like to report, as discreetly as possible, that last night I overcame any need of Courfeyrac. Not that I ever took any of his advice, but he was always there, should I need any. And it's clear that now, I don't. I did something all on my own, without his help or instruction. So, there! I'm not as hopeless as it might seem, and it did not take me very long at all, only eight nights of practice! I'm sure it took him much, much longer to figure out... It's very complicated in that area.

Not that I can take all of the credit. Cosette helped me out a _lot_. She's better at this than me, by far. She knows a surprising amount about herself, for reasons she has yet to confess to...

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**Hmm what's Marius talking about...?**

**Sorry for not updating guys! **

**Reviews?**


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